


Hamartia

by BonesOfBirdWings



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Vampires, references to greek tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-20
Updated: 2015-09-20
Packaged: 2018-04-22 12:20:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4835108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BonesOfBirdWings/pseuds/BonesOfBirdWings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hamartia:<br/><em>noun</em>  1. a fatal flaw, leading to a hero's downfall</p>
<hr/>
<p>Stiles has always had a thirst for knowledge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hamartia

**Author's Note:**

> This is a strange creature, born violently in the space of an afternoon. It wouldn't let me do anything else but write it.
> 
> Thanks to [Mal](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Malapropian/pseuds/Malapropian) for the edit, and I'm sorry it took this long to post it. <3

**Parados**

Once, there was a father and a son.

 

**First Episode**

“What use is this?” asked Stiles. It was midnight. His eyes were blurry from lack of sleep and his fingers were scored with tiny cuts from the knife he wielded clumsily.

“You need control,” Deaton replied, not glancing up from his paperwork.

“How does this teach me control?” Stiles demanded. “I’ve seen your books, Deaton. With the runes and the circles and the fucking _protection wards_. Tell me, _why_ am I chopping up plants again?”

“You can’t run before you’ve learned to walk.”

“What does that even mean?”

“In magic, stumbles can be fatal.”

Stiles slammed his hand down on the desk, sending chopped plants flying everywhere. “How,” he bit out, “is this even more than, I don’t know, _crawling_? What _use_ is this?”

Deaton glanced disapprovingly at Stiles. “It’s a stepping stone. You need to master this before you move on to the more complex magics. I know it’s slow; I just ask for a little patience.”

“Deaton,” Stiles replied evenly. “I can’t waste time with this. Who knows when the next monster is going to roll in, and we’ve been barely scraping by. I need all the possible firepower. I need–“

“I know,” Deaton cut him off. “We’ll be getting to that. But you need to know how to make ceremonial oils before you do the more complex magics. You have to know how to anchor your magic, Stiles. It can be fatal if you don’t.”

 

**First Stasimon**

There are many fathers and sons, but this father was particularly brilliant and the son particularly unwise.

Or maybe it’s the other way around. It depends on your interpretation.

 

**Second Episode**

Mountain ash curled around his fingers as he hummed absentmindedly to himself, flipping through the pages of the tome. He held a flashlight between his teeth as he pored over the meticulously inked runes.

“Sowulo,” he muttered around the light, his fingers tracing out a lightning bolt in the air and the mountain ash gleefully following. “Berkana.” He sketched out a pointy “B”. “Inguz –“

The door creaked open, and as Stiles jumped in surprise, the mountain ash whipped out towards the figure, striking it across the face –

“Ow!” a familiar voice yelled.

“Oh shit,” Stiles exclaimed, waving his hand to direct the mountain ash away from the man. “Deaton, shit, I’m so sorry! You’re not supposed to be back for another –“

“No,” Deaton interrupted, flipping on the lights, “I’m not. But you’re not supposed to be here either. What –“ he cut himself short, spotting the book that Stiles was trying to unobtrusively tuck out of sight.

“Stiles.” His voice was grim as he strode towards the boy, snatching the tome out of his grip. “What the _hell_ are you doing with this?”

“Just some… ah –“

“Don’t even try to explain,” Deaton continued, his eyes icy with fury. “You’re peeking ahead, trying to meddle with things you don’t have the skill or the background for. I told you, you need _patience_.”

“There’s no time for that!” Stiles broke in. “I have to protect them! They’re –”

“ _ **DON’T PRETEND THIS IS ABOUT THEM!**_ ” Deaton roared, an edge of magic leaking into his voice.

The room fell silent. “What?” Stiles finally whispered. “What did you say?”

Deaton swallowed. “Don’t pretend,” he continued, his voice soft. “That it’s not about you. That it’s not _selfish._ ”

“What do you even mean?”

“You want to be like them, powerful in an instant. Don’t deny it,” Deaton said as Stiles opened his mouth. “It’s natural, Stiles. It seems so easy. One bite, and then you have all the superhuman abilities you could have dreamed of. But it’s not that easy for us. You have to be conscientious, patient. You build the foundation –”

“I do want to protect them,” Stiles insisted. “I’ve turned down the bite before, Deaton. It’s not like I just want power for power’s sake! If I learn magic, then I can –”

“I know,” Deaton replied, “but you have to admit, you also want to feel powerful, useful, on the same level as your friends, and that’s natural –”

“I’m not being selfish!” Stiles exclaimed. “You are! That’s what’s happening here!”

“What? Stiles?”

“You’re being selfish with your knowledge! Why won’t you show it to me? All I want to know is how to protect myself and others!”

“You keep saying that – who are you trying to convince –”

“Shut up! I just want to know, Deaton. I don’t even want to use it now, okay? Or meddle with it, or whatever! I want to know, just in case.”

“Stiles, I don’t think….”

“If I don’t use it,” Stiles said. “If I just know it, build the foundation first and all of that, what is the harm in me knowing it?”

Deaton stared at Stiles for a long moment before sighing and rubbing his temple. “Fine,” he said resignedly, holding out the book to Stiles. “ _Just_ to study, mind you. Don’t attempt _anything_ in here without my supervision.”

“I won’t,” Stiles replied, taking the book from Deaton. “I promise.”

 

**Second Stasimon**

Is it the son’s fault that he fell? Foolhardiness is only harmful when one has the proper tools.

 

**Third Episode**

There were too many of them. They weren’t prepared for one vampire, much less a coven of them.

They had begun hunting the vampires as night was falling, counting on the last vestiges of sun to protect them.

But then Scott had heard a woman’s pained cry and had dashed into the forest, the other werewolves following him, ignoring Stiles’ calls to wait for a second, be careful, you don’t actually know what’s in there.

And of course it had been a trap. Vampires were cunning, canny. They had been hunting their prey for centuries. By this point, it was like shooting fish in a barrel for them. A half-trained pack of werewolves with an inexperienced Alpha had no chance against them.

“Fuck,” Stiles muttered, mountain ash flying from his fingers like a whip to wrap around the throat of the nearest vampire. The creature let out a high screech as the silver particles suspended in the ash seared its pale flesh. But, with a snarl, it waved its fingers in a complicated pattern, and Stiles felt his connection to the mountain ash abruptly disappear.

“Fuck,” he repeated, louder, as the vampire turned towards him menacingly, a collar of burned skin vivid around its throat. It looked dark in the moonlight, but Stiles imagined it to be a deep scarlet, like the color of an angry sunburn. “Scott, Isaac, anybody? Can I get a little – fuck!” The vampire lunged at him, and only another whip of mountain ash striking out from the glass container inside his backpack saved him from getting his throat torn out. The creature hissed loudly as the silver scored a line across its face.

Before it could regain its equilibrium, a clawed figure sprang from out of the shadows to attack it. Even though the full moon was bright overhead, the heavy tree cover still made it almost impossible for Stiles to distinguish between the werewolves.

He paused for a minute to catch his breath and calm his beating heart. He was useless here, again. No, less than useless. A liability. He had thought the silver-infused mountain ash would have been enough….

“Scott!” Isaac’s thin, panicked cry rang through the clearing. Stiles’ head snapped up, and before he even had time to think, he was darting through the clash of shadowy figures. There, in a patch of moonlight, was Scott, and he skidded to a stop by his side, pushing Isaac out of the way.

“Scott,” he exclaimed, his hands frantically patting over his friend’s body. “Scott, are you okay? Scott, what… oh no,” Stiles breathed, staring at the steady drip of black oozing from Scott’s stomach. “Is that….”

“Wolfsbane.” Stiles whirled around to find a tall, regal vampire standing behind him. The vampire smiled, its fangs glinting sinisterly, as it raised its right hand to show Stiles its black-tipped fingers.

“It doesn’t hurt us,” the creature explained. “We don’t have nervous systems for it to act upon. But your friend….” It stared contemplatively at Scott’s hunched form. “You could run,” it finally said. “Your friend here might not make it. But you could run. All we wanted was for you to leave us to hunt in peace. And of course,” it said with wide eyes and a fanged smirk, “some prey.”

“Your ‘prey’,” Scott grit out, “are our families and our friends. We can’t just –“

“Shut up, you little puppy,” the vampire snarled. “It shows your inexperience and foolishness that you still claim them as ‘family’. They are weak, fragile little things, good only for food and sex. Look at your human ‘friend’ here.” It gestured towards Stiles. “It even has magic, and still it is weak. Useless. Why, all it can do is throw its powder around, like that _helps_ anybody.”

Stiles jumped to his feet. “So you think,” he retorted.

The vampire laughed. “So I think? Yes, you little bloodbag,” it continued as mountain ash began to swirl around Stiles’ feet. “I think all you can do is the little magics, the easy ones, the ones that only require a small application of will, not blood or sacrifice –“

“Really?” Stiles interrupted, as the last rune slithered into place at his feet.

“You don’t even have anchors,” the vampire said, and then the world exploded into light and heat.

His skin was a veil of incandescence. His veins were rivers of light. There was a roaring in his ears, like the crackling of a gigantic fire as he flew on bright waves of wind, his laughter smoke his words sparks he was everywhere and nowhere the universe was a sea of stars and he was all of them he laughed joyously into the ether exulting in his own radiance –

 

**Exodus**

Wings of wax aren’t the sturdiest.

But oh! How beautiful the sun is!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading this! I have a [tumblr](http://flightofmorning.tumblr.com/) if you'd like to stop in and say hello~


End file.
